<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Barrage by youcouldmakealife</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24203515">Barrage</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife'>youcouldmakealife</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [115]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:14:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,031</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24203515</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is such a fucking mess,” Jared says.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>OMC/OMC</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [115]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/849798</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>66</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>313</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Barrage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As much as Jared wants to stay home, curl up around Bryce in his own bed, fall asleep to the slow beat of his heart, he can’t. It’s way too soon when he has to disentangle himself from Bryce, slip his shoes back on, walk back out into the Calgary night, because he can’t push his luck by skipping out on curfew tonight. ‘Doesn’t listen to directions’, ‘shirked curfew’, all that shit, all those hits to your reputation have an impact on your career whether it reaches the media or not. People talk. Jared knows that better than pretty much anyone. </p>
<p>If Bryce didn’t play like Bryce, well — Bryce plays like Bryce and he’s still locked into a contract that looks like a steal for the Flames, even if it’s a shitton of money. He probably lost a million a year, at least, for public perception. Jared doesn’t have that luxury. If he alienates the front office and Edmonton decides they’re done with him, no one else is going to be interested in taking him off their hands if they hear he’s got a bad attitude.</p>
<p>He cuts it close again, gets in the door about five minutes before curfew, Julius looking up from his phone when he does, seeming a little relieved, probably that he doesn’t have to make excuses for him, even though he offered to. He’s shut out the light beside his bed by the time Jared’s changed into pjs, and Jared wonders if he was like, waiting up for him.</p>
<p>Jared’s exhausted, but he knows he isn’t going to sleep, so he fucks around on his phone, texting Bryce and, when Bryce goes to bed — he played a game, after all, as did Julius, so it makes sense that they’re tired — he does something he’s not supposed to, goes to the Oilers blogs. He reads the comments of a pre-game write-up that mentions him being a healthy scratch, and they’re all wondering if he’s sick or injured and they’re just not saying. </p>
<p>So yeah, consensus is it makes no fucking sense logistically to scratch him. Jared’s glad they noticed, though, of course they do — you cheer for a team as bad as the Oilers, a team that’s been bad as long as they’ve been bad, you’re going to question every roster decision, especially one that makes your already bad team weaker.</p>
<p>He’s wrung dry the next morning, a too late night followed by a too early morning. He sleeps on the flight, at least, which isn’t something he usually manages to do, eyes gritty and mouth dry when he wakes up on their descent on Vancouver. They have a short break between getting to their hotel and gearing up for an optional practice, too short to nap, and Jared feels like he needs the nap more than the practice, but he goes anyway, because it wouldn’t look good to skip out on it right after being scratched. It’s low-intensity at least; everyone there but him, their seventh D and their backup goalie played last night. Once he pushes through the exhaustion he feels better, feels right, but that only lasts until he gets off the ice, and he’s exhausted again. He’s set to have dinner with Elaine, but if he’s going to make it to that he needs a nap. Thankfully Julius is being social for once, heading out shopping with a recent call up, a fellow Finn, so Jared gets the room to himself, pulls the curtains across the windows and drifts for awhile before he figures out sleep isn’t going to happen. </p>
<p>He pulls out his phone, checks ‘jared matheson scratch’ to see if there’s anything new, a bad habit he knows he needs to break, stares when he sees ‘Deslauriers addresses Matheson scratch’ under the most recent results, from all of a half hour ago. He must have talked to the press after practice.</p>
<p>Jared sits up as he clicks to the article, the video autoplaying, Deslauriers’ dumb mouth moving soundlessly until Jared unmutes his phone.</p>
<p>“It had nothing to do with play, he’s been playing very well,” Deslauriers says, and Jared has one whole second to enjoy Deslauriers being backed into a corner before he adds, “Matheson couldn’t play for personal reasons.”</p>
<p>Jared goes cold. Because he knows what this leads to. Either he bullshits some non-hockey emergency to the media, or they’re going to assume the ‘personal reasons’ are off-ice behaviour, or law related, or worse. He doesn’t know what’s worse. He can’t think.</p>
<p>Greg picks up on the second ring, says, “I saw it,” before Jared can say a thing.</p>
<p>“How is this <i>legal</i>,” Jared says. He’s a non-Conservative Albertan, he knows his fucking politics, and this has to be against union rules or <i>something</i>.</p>
<p>“I can call the NHLPA right now,” Greg says, but there’s hesitation in his voice.</p>
<p>“Would you have to say why he’s doing this?” Jared asks.</p>
<p>“For it to be considered targeted harassment, yes,” Greg says. And they’d go to bat for Jared, he knows they would — they’re obligated to, and Jared has watched them literally stand up for guys who assault women because they’re obligated to, Jared is like the opposite of an ethical dilemma in comparison — and maybe it’d stay under wraps, but if it hit full on legal shit, arbitration or something like that? Or if anyone involved leaked what was happening behind the scenes? ‘Oilers Management Have Been Targeting Their Gay Player’ would be the best case headline. The worst being ‘Bryce Marcus Not Only Gay, But Secretly Married to an Oiler’. And even if he got anywhere with a grievance, he’d be considered too much of a headache for any NHL exec. His dad’s worst case scenarios about coming out as an NHL player are all coming true, and Jared isn’t even out yet.</p>
<p>“This is such a fucking mess,” Jared says.</p>
<p>“I know, I’m sorry,” Greg says. “I’m going to call Summers, okay? He’s got a lot of influence, he might be able to swing something I can’t.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Jared says. “Yeah, thanks.” </p>
<p>“Hang in there, okay Jared?” Greg says.</p>
<p>“Doing my best,” Jared says.</p>
<p>His phone is buzzing. A lot. Bryce, then his dad, then his mom, then Erin, maybe asked to by mom and dad when they couldn’t reach him, maybe on her own steam. Bryce again.</p>
<p><i>I’ll talk to you in a bit?</i>, Jared texts Bryce the third time he mutes a call from him. He just — can’t. If he talks to anyone, especially Bryce, he thinks whatever remaining calm he has — and there isn’t much of it — is going to shatter. </p>
<p><i>ok</i>, Bryce says. <i>i love u</i>.</p>
<p>Jared shuts his eyes for a moment. Types out <i>You too.</i>, then rewatches Deslauriers throwing him under the bus. He doesn’t know if the hint of a smirk he’s detecting is real or if it’s just what he’s projecting onto that stupid fucking face. </p>
<p><i>Could I get a raincheck for dinner? Something big came up.</i>, Jared texts Elaine. He’ll crack just as hard in the face of her kindness as he’d crack if he talked to Bryce. He doesn’t know if Bryce has told her, but if he hasn’t yet, he will.</p>
<p><i>Of course honey. Whatever you need I’m here ok?</i>, Elaine texts back, and Jared’s eyes sting. </p>
<p><i>Thank you.</i> he manages, and puts his phone away. It buzzes a minute later, and Jared has even odds on his mom or his dad, but it’s Greg. He picks up.</p>
<p>“I talked to Summers,” Greg says. </p>
<p>“What’d he say?” Jared asks, hoping for some — magic string pulling, he doesn’t know. It’s not exactly realistic. Summers is one of the best in the business, but that business is being an agent, not a GM. Important when it comes to facilitating the contracts, but once those contracts are signed, there’s nothing they can really do until they expire.</p>
<p>“He thinks you should request a trade,” Greg says. “And I agree.”</p>
<p>“I don’t <i>want</i> to be traded,” Jared says.</p>
<p>“I know,” Greg says. “But the way Deslauriers is doubling down — you think he’s going to quit now that he’s ahead?”</p>
<p>“No,” Jared says. It’s petty people that do petty shit, and petty people don’t suddenly have a change of heart about their pettiness, in Jared’s experience.</p>
<p>“GMs on poorly performing teams don’t have the best job security,” Greg says, and Jared bristles a little, even though the Oilers are an objectively poorly performing team. “But they tend to last at least a few years with the benefit of the doubt before they get chucked. And Halla’s bought him time. He’s going to be there for at least a couple more years I think. You want to be across from him at the negotiating table when you’re an RFA?”</p>
<p>“That’s almost two years away,” Jared says.</p>
<p>“Two years he’s going to undermine you, two years he can do whatever he wants to you without repercussions, because people aren’t going to think he’s scratching you for no reason, they’re going to assume there’s something behind that, and they’re going to start wondering what that is. Unless we file a grievance, but that could blow up too,” Greg says. It’s stuff Jared’s already thought of, but it’s different, starker, to hear it from his agent.</p>
<p>“I’m not going to bullshit you, Jared. If he wants to sink your career, he wouldn’t even have to try hard. A few more offhand comments about personal reasons, a few more scratches, they’re going to start assuming things about you. And you’re talented, but you’re not the level of talented where a team’s going to gamble that it’s worth it. Once you get a reputation, that doesn’t go away. And he knows that.”</p>
<p>Greg’s talking more confidently than usual, no hesitation, and Jared thinks he’s repeating what Summers told him. And Summers would know about reputation, the same way Jared does. Articles about Bryce still sometimes allude to his arrests. The difference being that Bryce is the sort of talent that a team would gamble on, and Jared isn’t. Greg — or Summers — is right. Jared knows that. Jared hates that.</p>
<p>“Do I have to be there?” Jared asks.</p>
<p>“Be there?” Greg asks.</p>
<p>“Does it have to be me requesting it?” Jared asks. Because he doesn’t know if he could, and even if he managed, if the words didn’t dry up in his throat — thinking no more drives to see Bryce for just the night, Julius paired with some poor other rookie who’d be exposed to death metal and weird orange eating and would probably drive Julius crazy too, thinking about having to adjust to a new room, new people, thinking about leaving Alberta, not for a road trip, not for a vacation, but leaving and not coming back except for the rare away game against the Flames, All-Star break — when Bryce probably wouldn’t even be there himself — the offseason. The longest he’s ever been out of the province was weeks. This is months at minimum. Over and over, for the foreseeable future, until he retires, or quits, or — who knows, miraculously gets traded to the Flames. Deslauriers’ sure as shit not going to be doing that for him. He doesn’t want to see Deslauriers’ face. Ever, but especially not the face he’d make hearing those words in Jared’s mouth, the face he’d make when he knows he’s won.</p>
<p>“No,” Greg says after a pause. “I can request it on your behalf.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Jared says, before he talks to Bryce, or Julius, or his parents, has to get the words out to them, backtracks the second he says them, the second he can see their faces. Jared likes to think he’s not stupid, and he’s worked so fucking hard for this, and Greg — or Summers — is right. This isn’t something to endure for weeks, or months, this is his entire career in the hands of a petty fucking tyrant. And Jared knows exactly how that will go.</p>
<p>It’s the right decision to make. Probably the only realistic one at this point if he wants to salvage any semblance of an NHL career.</p>
<p>“Okay?” Greg asks.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Jared repeats. “Request the trade.”</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>